you pick up a pile of roses
you tie them together
with the same ropes
that bind you
to your sanity.

but a few of them fall off.

they are the ones with thorns.
they are the ones that are wilted.
they are the ones that are wild.

you leave them there
embraced by the dirt
for you know
that they are where they need to be.

but your heart doesn't.

your heart
bends down
and picks them up
cradling them.
adorning them.
inhaling them.

because
your heart
does not
know.

it does not know
of the pain
of thorns
piercing through
the flesh
spilling blood
over places it can't reach

it does not know
of the pain
of delicate petals
feeling rough
against its tarnished walls.

it does not know
of the pain
when it comes
face to face with the fact that
there are some things
that we don't want to show.
and then,
there are some things
that we don't want to feel.